


A Tired Hurt

by HopelessNights



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Angst, Dark Thoughts, Langst, Overthinking
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-13
Updated: 2019-05-13
Packaged: 2020-03-02 19:24:01
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 858
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18817408
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HopelessNights/pseuds/HopelessNights
Summary: It felt like a dull pain; and over time, that pain would ache at various levels of intensity.





	A Tired Hurt

Lance was tired. He was tired of the hurt. He was tired of feeling lonely despite being surrounded by people he considered his friends. He was tired of the dark cloud casted over his mind like a stubborn stain.

 

He knew that he tended to overthink a lot, but when there were so many actions that he could misinterpret, it was bound to happen. He was already so insecure. Receiving many tentative looks, or the stern call of his name to pay attention or to stop goofing around just made his head hurt from the inevitable task of picking apart those actions and connecting them to how his friends must think of him as a burden. Things that seemed like they could’ve been jokes in some distant past stung and cut deep through his entire being; painful words formulated equally painful thoughts which became embedded into the depths of his soul until he was surely littered with imperceptible scars.

 

It felt like a dull pain; and over time, that pain would ache at various levels of intensity.

 

_“Dumb.”_

 

It was just a game. It was a _game_ , yet why did it hurt so much when none of his friends defended him? Maybe he _was_ the dumb one. Maybe he was dumb; he wasn’t like Pidge who could hack into space shit like she was born with that skill and literally did not need to exert any effort whatsoever—a clear-cut genius, right? Maybe he was dumb; he wasn’t like Hunk who could keep up with Pidge as they talked about coding. Maybe he was dumb; he wasn’t like Allura or Coran or Shiro—he couldn’t be a leader like them, couldn’t keep his cool under pressure just quite like them, couldn’t quite possibly have the experience they had, couldn’t be a hero, couldn’t be wise, and couldn’t be elegant and poised. Maybe he was dumb; he couldn’t be like Keith, who—despite his dumb haircut (which wasn’t even dumb, Lance could grudgingly admit within the solitude of his own mind)—was way more talented than Lance could ever aspire to be. Keith had always been better than Lance. He was better as the Red Paladin than Lance, and was the better paladin even when Lance was the Blue Paladin. It would’ve been better if Lance had been the one to leave. Allura was a better paladin than him. Keith was a better paladin than him. Why keep dumb Lance around?

 

Here was where the dull ache would transition into a burning sensation. It would start in the back of his throat, and it would spread to his eyes until they stung with unshed tears. He would gasp and try to speak, but the words would be choked and his throat would burn from the exertion. When he would finally cease his efforts to force out words to fill the silence, his throat would still ache like something sharp was lodged into it until it hurt to even breathe.

 

 

 

 

 

When Keith came back, Lance had thought maybe, just _maybe_ , things would work out. It was a brief moment of hope, a light in the darkness that had been suffocating Lance for so very long. That hope was shattered as soon as Keith brushed Lance aside, because _Lance wasn’t worth the time_.

 

Lance wasn’t important. He wasn’t a significant part of Voltron. People didn’t worry about him, because he was replaceable. He was just that lucky _nobody_ who had somehow managed to snatch fighter pilot status due to Keith being kicked out of the Garrison. He was just that lucky nobody who somehow managed to snatch up one of the lions, becoming a paladin of Voltron. He was a lucky nobody. And who even had time for a nobody? What was a nobody like Lance even doing around a bunch of somebodies anyway? They all had something going for them; they were all going places. But Lance? He was on the long winding track to nowhere. He was a nobody. He was insignificant. So, it made sense he wasn’t worth anyone’s time.

 

This was where the ache that had dulled over time would flare up again, a pain of cold ice. It was the pain of the cold realization and the gradual acceptance of his worth. It was a freezing sensation that had his hands quivering at his sides, his entire body producing a cold sweat as he went dizzy from the acknowledgement of just how insignificant he was—and had he always been that way? How could he have been so blind?

 

 

 

 

As the team formed Voltron to fight their newest enemy, the pain lingered—a dull ache buzzing beneath his skin. Lance would wonder from time to time about when it would act up again. And each time, he would fabricate an ounce of hope that maybe this time someone would comfort him, reassure him of his place on the team—that someone would notice his pain, embrace him with warmth. That hope would disintegrate and develop over and over and over again.

 

And Lance was still waiting…

 

For someone to notice; for the pain to go away.

**Author's Note:**

> It's been a while since I've published a piece of writing. I don't particularly feel super great about this one. It was rushed. I felt the need to just put something out since I haven't in so long. Anyway, I hope you guys enjoy.
> 
> I appreciate comments and kudos! :)


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